Harry Potter and the Tail of Orcinus
by prof.antisocial
Summary: For his entire life, Harry Potter had always felt alone. Trust was something that was easily earned from him, and it was a gift he did not give to many. But when he realizes that he has been ignorant to the most loyal and trustworthy person he's ever known, what will he do to prove her worth? When the Triwizard Tournament selects Harry to compete, how will the pair evolve? *H/Hr*
1. A Note

**A Note About This Fanfic…**

_Harry Potter is perhaps the only series that has fanfiction that I personally enjoy, more specifically those with Harry/Hermione pairing. No matter how many times I read the original series or watch the movies, my mind simply cannot stand the utter disappointment in the fact that Harry and Hermione never end up together. Ron and Hermione as a couple- once again, in my opinion - makes no tidbit of logical sense. Neither does Harry and Ginny. Hence why I'm writing this pairing._

_I've read countless amounts of Harry/Hermione romance fics and yet they all disappoint me in some form or another. I have a few favorites, but other than those, none of them are really good. Either they're illogical and childish and are written by an actual small child (by observing the grammar and spelling), or the story just doesn't suit my appetite. So, I've decided to take whatever ability of writing I think I have and apply it to making a Harry/Hermione love fic that I'd enjoy._

_Now, with that being said, let me mention a few things about how this story will most likely go:_

_**Relationships**__: In regards to relationships, Harry and Hermione will obviously be the ending pair. That will not change. Ron will most likely end up being with Luna._

_**Bashing**__: There is definite room for some minor Ron bashing, but ultimately the Golden Trio will prevail. Ron definitely has some jealousy issues from the original, and I have no means to diverge from that. This won't destroy any friendships however, so no need to worry. Harry has enough enemies as it is. _

_**Timeline**__: Will start with the beginning of tGoF and will probably end sometime around tOtP_

_**Canon/AU?**_: _Will follow the same plot as the original, but you can definitely expect some changes when it comes to how it is executed. But no, Voldemort won't just suddenly wind up dead in the middle of the story randomly lol. _

_**Rating**_: _Currently rated T for the moment. I Might decide to change it to M at a later date._

_Anyways, that's just about it. Thank you for checking this out, and I hope you enjoy it!_


	2. Chapter 1: Greatness Awaits

**Chapter 1: Greatness Awaits**

**Disclaimer: I naturally do not own anything relating to the Harry Potter series.**

The sudden sound of crashing plastic densely reverberated through Harry's cushioned skull. His rest now interrupted, the frail boy rose like a vampire as a shrill shriek pierced the air. Unsure of what the infrequent trouble was, Harry perked his ears as his eyes narrowed to slits, frozen in anticipation as he waited for something to follow what was now a compelling silence. After moments of remaining far too nescient for his liking, curiosity picked up Harry's legs and walked him to the door of what used to be the spare bedroom of #4 Privet Drive.

Slightly rattling the knob, Harry Potter opened the door and stalked his way out of the room. Partially guarded, Harry's arm naturally fell just below his hip, wand at the ready. He prayed internally that using it would not be a necessity. Magic had occurred far too often at the Dursley residence, and the boy doubted he'd be given any more chances to avoid it from happening again. The Ministry wasn't known for its forgiving nature, and the Boy Who Lived had just about run out of excuses.

As he approached the landing, Harry could feel the carpeting vibrate in beats beneath his toes, coincided by the sound of frustrated heavy breathing; breathing which was drawing closer. The panic in Harry's sternum jumped slightly before it quickly faded, his wand arm now relaxing by his side once more. He could recognize who was approaching from anywhere.

An extremely tomato-faced Dudley Dursley stomped his way up the stairs, angry tears barely clinging to the caruncles of his eyes. At the hip, a broken PlayStation was fixed, with pieces of small electronics and plastics dangling loosely to the floor attached by different colored wires, like a tooth by a thread. At the sight of his cousin, Dudley appeared to almost hesitate, as the look in his eyes morphed from irritated to slightly more irritated. The resemblance of his father was honestly uncanny. Huffing, the pompous brat marched on, shoving into Harry's shoulder as though the clear pathway past him on the right did not exist.

"Move it Freak," Dudley grumbled, his stale red eyes never making contact with the amused ones of his opposer. Only until after watching Dudley speed-walk into his bedroom did Harry notice the presence of his panicked Aunt silently approaching from behind him.

"What are you looking at? Get back in your room." Aunt Petunia guffawed, looking at her nephew as though he was some sort of fugitive on the run. Harry ignored her demand, gazing back at her as he made sure his emotions were screwed to a mask.

"I thought I'd heard a scream?" Harry craned his neck back to the door of Dudley's room, and back to his Aunt again. "What happened?"

Taking his question as some sort of unfriendly reminder, Petunia launched herself in the direction of her son's room and stopped at the door, though not entering. She raised her arm as though to knock, but not before turning back to Harry with even more exaggerated disgust contoured on her horse-like features.

"Boy, did you hear me? I said: in your room. This has nothing to do with you." Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he started moving back to his prison cell. As he opened the door he could hear his Aunt knock on Dudley's lightly before whispering cautiously, "Sweetums?"

Slowly shutting his door behind him, Harry finally allowed himself to give in to a small fit of laughter. He may not like the Dursley's all that much, but sweet Merlin they could be quite the bunch of unintentionally self-deprecating stooges sometimes. Well, at least Petunia and Dudley were. Uncle Vernon was just an arse - maybe kind of funny to look at sometimes - but mostly just an arse.

Harry's bed gave a good few squeaks in animosity as the boy let himself fall back upon it in a sort of mental recession. After a few moments studying the ceiling, Harry cast his attention to the half-eaten vanilla birthday cake that topped the nightstand to his left. A small smile danced on his lips, a happy snort exiting through his nose. If someone had told a much younger Harry Potter that he would one day have friends sending him his birthday cake through delivery by owl, he would've howled in laughter. And as a small child, Harry did not laugh all that much.

The mental conjuration of his friends put a small bubbly warmth in Harry's stomach. He missed them terribly - all of them. Being stuck with people such as the Dursleys could make that small feeling of loss grow a lot less small. The grand stone castle of Hogwarts seemed so far away at this point, and Harry ached to walk its luxurious halls once more.

Luckily for Harry, the Dursleys didn't even bother to lock his school stuff up this summer, giving him free rein to go through any of his stuff. He even managed to complete his summer assignments within the first two weeks. It wasn't as though there was anything else for him to do, and besides, Harry was extremely glad knowing Hermione would be most definitely proud of his completions. Honestly, putting in the effort to the summer work wasn't nearly as bad as what Ron would constantly whine about for the past three years. Maybe it was due to the fact that scribbling on some Transfiguration papers gave at least some sense of home compared to what the chores for the Dursley's did. Detention with Lockhart in Second Year wasn't even as bad as those could be sometimes.

Harry sat up and pushed himself against the wall perpendicular to his bed. Now with a clear vantage of the nightstand, Harry grabbed the small pile of letters on top of his birthday cake. He snatched them up and slowly shuffled through, reading the names on the back. Harry silently laughed to himself as he flipped Hagrid's, which had his name written in the biggest letters he'd ever seen. Chuckling, he pulled it out.

_Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! I remember when I first found you on your 11th, and I could not be happier that you didn't wind up being that pudgy looking sow you call a cousin._

No matter how many times he would read this, that line always made Harry laugh.

_I recall getting you a cake that year, although I also remember sitting on it. Consider this one a repayment of sorts._

_All the best,_

_Hagrid_

Stuffing Hagrid's letter away, Harry moved onto the next one in the mix: Ron's. His was clearly not that thought out, but that was usually the case involving anything Ron ever did. Harry sighed in content as he reopened the letter of his first-ever friend.

_Happy Birthday Harry! Hagrid and Hermione thought that it would be a good idea to get you something from all of us on top of the gifts, and we decided to bake you a cake. I personally thought that was rather much with the gifts and all, but the other two insisted on it, especially Hermione. She was acting as though you'd never seen a cake before. Honestly, she can be really persistent sometimes. Anyways, remember the World Cup? Of course you do, what am I talking about? Well, there actually may be just a small chance that dad can get tickets. I'll make sure to let you know as soon as possible. And don't worry, we'll handle the muggles if we do wind up being able to go._

_See you when I see you -_

_Ron_

After putting that letter back, Harry moved on to the final one of the bunch; this particular one belonging to Hermione. Carefully, Harry extracted the letter for the umpteenth time and uncreased its folds, examining the neat and articulate handwriting of one Hermione Granger:

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! If you've read Ron and Hagrids' letters already then I'm sure you know what this is about. But if not, then I guess I better explain. We've decided to come together and send you a cake (obviously) alongside the usual small gifts. I'm sure your typical noble mind is thinking that it's too much, but honestly Harry, a cake and presents is typical in and of itself. I know that your childhood wasn't the best, and those Merlin-forsaken muggles that you're forced to call family never celebrated your birthday, so I figured this the least we could do. Especially for what you've done for all of us - for me - these last few years. After the whole predicament with Sir- Snuffles last year, this was more clear than ever. After living through so much your whole life you still seek to help others. That's just one of the many things I cherish about you, Harry. Happy Birthday!_

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry felt the heat rise to his face as he examined the contents of this strange missive he read countless times already. For a while, he did not know what it was about this letter from his best friend that sent him into such an odd mood. There was nothing new about it. It was _very_ Hermione-like. After ponderous thinking multiple times, Harry always arrived at the same conclusion: he simply felt guilty. She had a rough year last year if her letter was anything to go by. Breaking Sirius out was a rather strenuous task for them _both_, physically and mentally, and he realized far too late that there was no way he could have done it without her. He never properly thanked or showed his gratitude towards Hermione for her help, and he was annoyed with himself for it. He was too focused on his own problems that he never actually looked for those of her own. The idea of writing her a letter like she had on the matter naturally came to mind, but he felt that wasn't genuine enough. This most definitely wasn't the first time _she_ thanked _him_. So, he forced himself to wait.

Harry took in this letter one last time before gently putting it away with the others. Suddenly, a soft questioning hoot emerged from the opposite of the room. Harry's snow-white owl, Hedwig, peered at him with a steady and thoughtful gaze. Her eyes unusually soporific for an animal of her species, the bird appeared interrogative. Harry smiled.

"I'm not sending anything right now, Hedwig. Just reading some older letters is all." Hedwig returned with another look as though to announce her understanding, before emitting a soft trill once more. Harry opened his mouth with a short intake of breath, looking at his owl with curiosity. "Hedwig, do you think I'm a good person?" Hedwig made no sound but demonstrated a sort of movement that could only compare to that of an eye-roll. Harry sagged forward.

"Well, just what am I supposed to make of that?"

Hedwig hooted.

Harry sighed. "Well, I suppose I can't say I'm a bad person, I think."

This time Hedwig was louder; much louder. She was behaving in the way a reprimanding mother would, as though he uttered words worthy of complete disapproval.

A loud banging sounded from the door, causing Harry's heart to drop out of existence. Uncle Vernon was now clearly home, as the sound of his phlegmy throat sounded through the other side of the bedroom door.

"You keep that bloody bird quiet or I swear to you I will come in there and take care of it myself!" Harry could practically hear his uncle's blood boiling from where he sat on the bed. Hedwig gave Harry a reproachful look followed by one that seemed to say:

'_That's what you deserve.'_

The Boy Who Lived, now aware of his uncle's return, inched his way off the bed and made to leave. He was to do chores today and would rather spare himself from any more of Uncle Vernon's guttural ululations by delaying any further. As he turned the doorknob, Hedwig gave one more final hoot of encouragement, before pacing his way downstairs.

* * *

Harry just couldn't believe his luck. Not only fifteen minutes ago did a small grey owl come barreling straight into the window of his bedroom, scaring the living daylights at him. Pigwidgeon had apparently decided to forget what he was doing upon making the delivery of Ron's letter announcing the possession of tickets to the Quidditch World Cup in just two days. Somehow, the little bird managed to keep itself awake after that nasty hit to the head, and flew clumsily into Harry's bedroom. Hedwig seemed to disapprove of this.

He doubted that the Dursley's would hold him here. They couldn't stand his existence as it was. So, without even bothering to ask for permission, Harry quickly wrote his acceptance of this irrefutable invitation and gave it back to Pig who, not before resting a bit, took the flight back to the Burrow.

Harry was surprised his morning managed to get so much better than how it started. He initially woke up from some nightmare in pure sweat, even writing a letter to Sirius about it. He was watching through the eyes of some poor muggle who stumbled upon a sight forbidden to him. Harry remembered a flash of green light before he felt his possession being pushed down by gravity. This muggle, whoever he might have been, was murdered, and most definitely by Voldemort. Harry knew he was. This wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this. Recalling the quick-paced events reminded Harry of Pettigrew's presence there as well. The thought of that rat-dropping set Harry's blood on fire. That creature was the scummiest of the scum that had ever roamed the magical world. He vowed one day to have him locked up in Azkaban to rot in sorrow for the rest of his days. But, that was all with due time. Pettigrew would get his deal of hurt one day.

There was, however, another man in that vision that Harry had never seen before. He naturally mentioned him in his letter to Sirius as well, but there wasn't exactly much to go on other than appearance.

Harry pushed the thought aside for a moment. He ultimately decided that he was going to enjoy this chance for a break at the normal negatives of his life. He would get to watch the biggest event of his favorite sport as a member of the crowd alongside his best friends. Ron mentioned that Hermione would be coming along as well, which was quite a pleasant surprise for Harry. He knew that she didn't exactly enjoy the sport, albeit her coming to every game of his own so far. But to be fair, the fact that she was coming would be much better overall, no matter the reason. Sometimes the Weasley's could be a bit much for Harry on his own. Of course, they were like a family to him - his first family - and they treated him as such. But in the end, he wasn't truly a family member. Sometimes, it was as though they tried too hard to treat him as such, and that could wind up being just far too stressful. Having Hermione there should lessen that, however.

Although he didn't like admitting it to himself, Harry also just missed her terribly, and a lot more than usual. Why exactly he wasn't sure. Maybe it was just the guilt? Perhaps he just needed to apologize for his lack of awareness and thank her? And to add more to the guilt he already had, Harry could tell he was looking forward to seeing Hermione more than the actual Cup; the Cup that Ron bought him tickets to see.

The whole ordeal that he and Hermione went through at the end of the previous year had changed things, or at least Harry felt it had. Leaving Hermione and the rest of his friends at King's Cross by the hands of Uncle Dursley wasn't a memory he was very fond of. It was rather humiliating, to say the least. Especially with the conversation that he held with everyone just prior to said departure.

_Ingressing through the hidden door of Platform 9 and 3/4_ _dug the all too familiar pit of sadness in his belly that had always seemed to remain empty upon his return. Harry knew he was in for a long summer, and the idea of waiting such an amount of time physically ached his skinny bones. The turnout of this year had probably been his best so far: he found out his godfather, an innocent man convicted of genocide, was alive and well, trying to work out a way to have Harry move out of the Dursley's and in with him. He also had the privilege of being taught by one of his father's best mates in his favorite subject alongside that as well. Honestly, the fact that it ended in such a decent manner almost scared Harry. He felt as though something was due to go wrong eventually. The magical world may be the best home he could ever ask for, but Merlin it could just as well be seriously life-threatening sometimes._

_As he scanned the crowd of Englishmen, Harry picked out the grumpy features of his uncle as he appeared to be waddling in place nervously. He was sweating rather intensely, and his eyes darted from person to person, as though trying to determine who was a threat and who was not. Uncle Vernon managed to catch Harry's eye for a moment, resulting in him to wave his hand in warning, demanding that he come over so they could leave. Harry pretended not to notice them._

_He quickly spotted the heads of hair belonging to the Weasley family just a few people over, and the small teen slithered his way through the diverse bodies as quickly and politely as possible. After bumping into several and muttering his apologies, Molly Weasley spotted Harry as his head popped into the group. _

"_Oh, there you are Harry dear. We were just about to leave, and I was hoping we would get to say goodbye." Mrs. Weasley grinned sweetly, her eyes shining in that familial warmth that she would often give to her children. Her voice suddenly darkened ever so slightly, "Ronald has told me just some of the things that have gone down this year-" Her son blushed at this, "-and I do hope that you're alright…" Harry could tell by the slight disapproval on her face that she didn't like some of his risk-taking that had occurred this year, but her sympathy over masked it quite. That, coincided with the fact that she was aware that she wasn't his mother. She didn't exactly have a say in what he did or did not do. So, she kept herself from speaking any more than that._

_Harry showed a small crooked smile in response to Mrs. Weasley's concern, knowing that she truly just wanted to help him. "Thank you. I'm doing rather well, actually." This wasn't actually a lie like it usually was. For once in his life, Harry felt that he seriously was okay. He wasn't at death's claws by the end of this year, despite Trelawney's adamant predictions. _

"_Well, just remember to write to us if you need anything this summer deary." Mrs. Weasley added. Harry nodded his understanding._

"_I'll make sure to do that, thank you." Harry now turned his attention over to Ron, who was currently in the midst of watching a muggle talk into his mobile about something to do with broken plumbing. The sight was rather amusing: Ron looked positively bewildered with the man, as though he had grown an extra two heads. Harry chuckled to himself as he shuffled over to his best mate._

"_Intrigued, are we?"_

_Ron shook his head from whatever trance he was in._

"_Who the bloody hell is he talking to? That piece of junk?" Ron motioned to the phone that the man held up to his ear. Harry sighed in amusement, now mentally preparing his explanation for what a wireless phone was. But another voice cut him to it._

"_It's just a telephone, Ronald." Hermione Granger somehow managed to approach on the opposite side of Ron to Harry in silence, her voice dripping in disappointment with chocolate eyes, however - chocolate eyes that glistened with a hint of mirth. Harry shot her a small grin before giving one of her own._

_Ron now looked positively lost. He opened his mouth, but said nothing for a moment, "But I thought you needed to have the ropey things connected for those to work?"_

_Hermione was about to provide an explanation of her own, but appeared to change her mind in the end, simply uttering, "That one doesn't need one."_

_Ron gave the man one more look before mumbling something along the lines of "Bloody mental," before sighing in small defeat. He spun around to face his two best friends, his palm resting on his forehead as though the unusual encounter had given him a migraine._

"_I'm gonna leave now. I think I've had enough for one year. Write to me whenever you want, I don't bloody care." And with that Ron Weasley stalked away, leaving a chortling Harry and Hermione by the side of the muggle tracks. After gaining some composure, the two stood in a sort of recessive silence as though to take the final moment in. After a good thirty seconds, Hermione cut in, and very softly._

"_Are you okay Harry?" Harry was about to give her the typical reply before she quickly added, "And don't you dare lie to me."_

_Harry gave her a look as though she didn't understand her implications, although they both knew he understood them very well. "Look, trust me when I tell you once again that I'm okay. Genuinely!" She raised an eyebrow at this. Harry sighed. "Hermione, this has probably been the best year of my life - well, maybe not as good as First Year- but this is a pretty close runner up! I mean, I just found out about a member of my family who actually __**wants **__me to be a part of their lives. I haven't had this since I was a toddler! I mean, I might as well say I've been doing great!" Harry breathed, only now noticing the somber look forming on Hermione's adorable features. He frowned._

"_Hermione-?"_

_The girl in question suddenly burst forward into Harry with a tearful squeak, nearly sending them both into the tracks a meter below. Hermione practically locked him to her body with her arms, as though letting him go might just start the apocalypse. The Boy Who Lived pondered for a moment, wondering how he wound up here in the first place. He remained unsure of himself for a moment, before instinctively returning her frightening hug. Hermione gave yet another squeal as she somehow managed to squeeze him tighter, causing Harry's heart to commence some sort of frenzied tap dance as the breath was forced back out through his nose and mouth. After another moment passed, Harry suddenly realized just how good it felt to have her so close. He always liked Hermione's hugs; she was the only person alive to ever give him one. And that was when the guilt initially punched him in the gut._

_Harry could hear Hermione's sniffles die down over the next minute before they both reluctantly let each other go. She began to mutter an apology, before something tugged hard at the collar of Harry's shirt, dragging him away from the person he would wind up longing for the most all summer._

_**End of Chapter 1: Greatness Awaits**_


	3. Chapter 2: Irrationally Illogical

_A/N: Let me first thank those of you who have tuned in to what little of a story I have so far. It's absolutely wonderful to see. This is the first time I've ever written any story for actual people, and I think this is a good start. Now, as the world is well aware, there is a particular virus going around. I've been quite busy the past week, and only yesterday was my school closed for the next two weeks. Although plenty of alarms have been raised, this will mean that I am going to have plenty of free time on my hands to write (my school is not hosting any online classes, thank goodness). So I think it's safe to say that quite the amount of chapters will be expected these next two weeks. This chapter was hard to get going and still felt rather weak in the end, to be honest. But anyway, I hope you enjoy it regardless!_

Chapter 2: Irrationally Illogical

Disclaimer: I own nothing relating to the Harry Potter franchise

Hermione Granger opened her bedroom window. The warm evening air of summer entered her senses, and she could smell just how beautiful it was. Hogwarts was her home in the coldest of seasons, and this brilliant heat she was experiencing now was a rare sensation. Hermione knew she was going to miss it. She always did. She always found herself reminiscing about home when she was away, and frequently wrote to her parents whenever she could. It could sometimes be hard to do so sometimes, however. The past few years at Hogwarts had been rather dangerous, and if her parents had ever found out just what had been going on, Hermione knew she would never get to step foot in the magical world again. And to be quite honest, she would rather die than let that happen.

Taking in one last deep breath of air through her nostrils, Hermione pushed herself away from the windowsill and twirled around to face her bed. Her luggage sat open upon her neatly dressed mattress with some folded clothes stacked beside it. Hermione lifted her wrist to get a good glance at her watch, noting that she had a good thirty minutes until the Weasley's arrival. She quickly placed in the remaining clothes before proceeding to get a good panorama of her room to ensure she had everything she needed. At this, Hermione's attention began to linger on the various items she had displayed throughout her room. It mainly consisted of Hogwarts-related mementos and paraphernalia, with a few family portraits sprinkled about. Obviously, a corner of her rather comfy abode was taken up by a personalized bookshelf, containing most of Hermione's favorite pieces of literature. With some works of Shakespeare along with some belonging to famous and historical witches and wizards, that very corner became the conjunction of two very different realities.

However, her focus was not on the books at the moment, which might be considered unorthodox in the eyes of others. No, it was rather glued to a particular portrait that leaned against the lamp on her bedside table. This one, like a majority of the others, was ever-moving. It was a scene that still sent Hermione into a happy stir; a scene that she would long to peek a glance at before turning in every night. The environment was also similar to some of the other photos: the grounds of Hogwarts- in this case, the snowy grounds- was the setting of this particular capture. In it, a very content Hermione, with her nose and cheeks blushing (partially) from the cold, was nestled in one Harry Potter's shoulder, whose face also shone with a tint of pink, but was complemented by his typical sideways grin and emerald eyes. Hermione remembered exactly when this was taken by an obsessive Colin Creevey, and she didn't need to examine her expression to be reminded of how it felt to be buried in her best friend's grasp like that.

The sudden thoughts that had just floated back into her consciousness sent a familiar blush to Hermione's face. Despite this, the teen darted over to the end table and snatched the frame containing that beloved memory, making sure to shove it in her luggage carefully between her clothes, as though to protect some sort of fragile and precious heirloom. Hermione found an irritation building that was evidently directed toward herself. She was going to be seeing Harry in a good hour anyway. Why she needed to be stressing over this one photo made no sense whatsoever, and Hermione absolutely loathed the idea of being this daft. Sure, she was smart enough to eventually realize that she had quite a bit of a crush on Harry after the events of Third Year. How could she not? In the end, Hermione was a pubescent girl, contrary to what Ronald might think. When her feelings for Harry were realized, it didn't take her very long to accept them at all. They made sense. But she at least wanted to know why in sweet Merlin it had such an effect on her? Hermione knew her crush on her best friend wasn't going to actually lead to anything, seeing as the recipient of said crush is The Boy who Bloody Lived! Harry could have any girl he wanted, and it didn't take long for her to realize that no matter how she felt towards him, she had no chance. And besides, Hermione wasn't sure she'd be able to live with herself if she somehow pushed Harry away, and doing something with this crush of hers would most definitely do just that.

Sighing, Hermione slowly zipped shut her trunk and dragged it onto the carpeted floor. She checked her watch again: 10 minutes. She could feel her stomach begin to ache with a type of anxiety that hadn't been felt in years, and this somehow made Hermione even more nervous. It almost felt like she was starting Hogwarts all over again.

'It's just Harry you stupid git! You're starting to act like Ronald!' Hermione reprimanded herself mentally, shaking off the irrational nerves that had started to reappear. She suddenly took notice of a certain ginger cat watching in disgust from atop her wardrobe.

"Crookshanks, I'm just as humiliated as you are, believe me." Hermione groaned, putting her head in the palm of her hand in frustration.

Crookshanks meowed in approval.

Huffing angrily, Hermione took off to the bathroom, cursing at herself quietly for acting like such a child, before proceeding to conjure up an appearance that she hoped would attract some sort of attention from the boy who changed her life. She knew it was completely worthless though.

_'When did I become such a bloody hypocrite?'_

* * *

Harry was starting to get terribly antsy at this point. The Weasley's were supposed to arrive nearly three minutes ago, and yet there had been no sign of this boisterous family anywhere. Everything was insanely quiet like it always was, and it only added more to Harry's impatience. His legs were bouncing before him, and painfully fast now. He was sitting on his bed once more, his arms draped over the handle of his trunk, his head nestled in-between. He couldn't keep still for more than a few seconds at a time. He kept trying to take a look outside for any sign of a car of some sort, but to no avail. Harry had been waiting all day for them to show up. He never wound up even considering the possibility that they might not even do so on time!

To add more to his troubling thoughts, Harry still hadn't discussed the fact that he was leaving to his Aunt and Uncle. He knew he wouldn't be forced to stay. He was just worried that one of the Weasley members might wind up with an angry Uncle Vernon to deal with. But so long as they stayed out of the house, everything should be alright.

Suddenly, as though living in some sort of paradox, a loud crash emerged from downstairs. Harry could feel the floor shake beneath his feet, as more noise erupted below him. He could hear the familiar shrill of his aunt ring out now, coincided by what was most definitely Uncle Vernon's booming shouts. Pulling himself out of his frozen and fearful daze, Harry darted out of his room and practically leaped to the landing of the stairs, stopping as another loud crash ensued. He could hear his cousin now, and if not for the current conundrum, Harry probably would have collapsed from laughter.

"Leprechauns! Bloody Leprechauns! They're coming through the chimney!"

Harry resumed his descent down the stairs and touched down in the foyer, practically slamming into the front door in hopes he could salvage whatever mucked up situation was beginning to unfold as quickly as possible.

Upon entering the living area, Harry froze once more, his eyes practically bulging through the slightly smudged lenses of his glasses. Before him, Arthur and Ronald Weasley appeared to be curiously examining a frightened and threatened pair of Dursley's, with Vernon wielding what seemed to be a large wooden pepper mill, screaming, "Get back! Get back, I say!" Aunt Petunia cowered behind him, her terrified gaze only on the carpeting which was now stained by the ash and that the Weasley's tracked in upon arrival through the fireplace.

Mr. Weasley seemed very preoccupied in the current state of Harry's aunt and uncle, evidently unfazed and nowhere near intimidated by Vernon's defensive position. "Extraordinary… what exactly would you call that weapon of yours? In all my years I've never seen such an elegant example of muggle craftsmanship." Uncle Vernon looked at this stranger with an expression that could only be described through repetition. Over Mr. Weasley's shoulder, Aunt Petunia caught Harry examining the situation in shock.

"Vernon!" Petunia directed her husband's gaze over to Harry with the point of her finger, therefore also directing those of Arthur and Ron. The two red-haired visitors each gave him a relieving smile.

"Well, about bloody time you showed up mate!" Ron declared. Harry returned with a sheepish grin of his own. But before he could come up with a response of his own, Uncle Vernon's voice erupted in complete anger.

"What did I say about any more of your kind in this house boy! If you freaks do not leave in the next minute, I am going to call the police, and have you arrested for trespassing!" Vernon was practically shaking in rage at this point, but his demeanor seemed to have little effect on anyone in the room.

Mr. Weasley simply turned back Harry, nodding his head in the direction of the entrance he walked in from, "Go and fetch your things, and we'll take our leave." Harry nodded in affirmation, taking one quick glance back at the Dursleys, and then darting off back upstairs.

A few awkward moments later, Harry returned. His trunk, with an empty owl cage leaning against the protruding handle, was dragging behind him in one hand along with his Firebolt in the other. He quickly made sure to note that Hedwig was already on her way to the Burrow, and that floo travel wasn't exactly her forte.

Mr. Weasley quickly levitated Harry's luggage and would floo it himself, relieving Harry of any chance of getting squashed by it upon arrival at the Burrow. He wanted to tell Mr. Weasley that it was fine, and he could do it himself, but felt it wasn't worth arguing right now.

"Alright, no need to delay any longer." Mr. Weasley stretched, giving the Dursley's a reproachful grin. He handed Harry a handful of powder, "Harry, you go first. I'm sure you're absolutely dying to get out of here."

Harry chuckled with a grimace, giving his Aunt and Uncle a look of his own, before stepping into the demolished fire pit, and looking out to the odd group of people watching him.

_'This is not how I saw this going.'_

"The Burrow!" Harry threw the powder between his shoes, causing a bright green flame to lick every inch of him before his existence seemed to become that of nothing. He was finally going home…

* * *

Hermione was currently seated in the dining hall of the Burrow, her eyes staring at the same page of a book that she had forgotten she was reading. She had arrived only that morning by floo, the same as Harry would any moment now. Ron and Mr. Weasley left a good ten minutes ago, and she was starting to get a bit concerned. She knew the little family Harry was left at home with weren't exactly the nicest bunch. She'd seen it first hand, unfortunately.

The thought of this reminded Hermione just how much she loathed people like them. They were so ignorant and arrogant, fearing anything that might be different or something that would require them to change. And Harry was stuck with them! A teenager who lived in a completely different world than that of their own. Now two more people of that same foreign world were to show up through magical fire of teleportation. Hermione didn't see them taking that kindly. Especially after the rather startled reaction of her own parents witnessing two rather tall redheads emerge from the hearth in their family room.

Hermione, coming to the realization that she was to make no further progress in her novel, shut it with a soft clap and put it down in surrender to her subconscious. Her chin wound up resting upon the palm of her hand supported by her elbow, which was perpendicular to the table. Each of her fingers tapped her cheek, one after the next in a quick rhythmic fashion. Luckily, a small freckled girl came with a cautious stride had emerged from around the corner of the room, hopefully saving Hermione from her impatience.

Ginny seemed to give Hermione a rather confused stare at the sight of her prevalent boredom. Especially with a rather large book laying down directly in front of her, closed. In all her time knowing Hermione, Ginny never could imagine her giving off such an air of malaise when around a book such as the rather heavy one in front of her. It was slightly troubling to see her friend in such a normal state.

Hermione made no signal as though to speak but just stared back at Ginny with the same stagnation that she wore upon the girl's entry.

Ginny finally caved into her curiosities, "Okay, just what is the matter?" she questioned, taking her seat across Hermione, who replied without any movement other than her eyes and lips.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione rolled her eyes with an extra and unintentional emphasis.

Ginny pursed her lips, before scoffing, "Hermione, I've never seen you look so miserable in quite some time, maybe ever." She paused, noting the rather hurt outline display on her friend's features, "And I don't mean that in any sort of negative way, per se, but it's kind of obvious that something is off with you."

Hermione closed her eyelids, breathing in deeply through her nose, "Look Gin, I'm fine, okay? Isn't a witch allowed to be a bit bored sometimes?"

Ginny snorted. "Yeah, you're right. Except for the fact that you're just not a witch. You're Hermione Granger: a witch who has literally spent half her lifetime reading books for enjoyment. And yet, here you are, with a book right in front of you, not reading it as you stare off into space looking super mopey. That's not normal."

Hermione managed to raise an eyebrow at this rant, finally giving in with a hesitant sigh. "Seriously Ginny, I am actually quite alright. I just can't focus right now, is all." Ginny didn't respond, only appearing to ponder to herself further.

After a moment's silence, she sliced in with, "It's a boy, isn't it?"

Hermione's head was up now. Trying her best to refrain from overreacting, she managed to spit a few words out. "What're you, my mother?"

Ginny gave a sly grin. "You didn't deny it."

"I didn't confirm it either!"

Doing her best to suppress a fit of laughter, Ginny returned with a quick sarcastic grunt. "I honestly thought nothing could distract you from your books, and yet here we are."

Hermione didn't even bother with an attempt to deny her friend's accusations, only repeating her eye roll once again. The next thing out of Ginny's mouth should be good enough reason to be sent to St. Mungo's.

"Is it Ron?"

The look of pure terror on Hermione's made her look as though she just encountered a dementor or something. She was sputtering at an incomprehensible rate, her mouth stuck open in shock. Ginny lost it at this.

"I'm just joking, Hermione!" She proclaimed in between fits of laughter as tears began to form, "I know you can't be that mad!"

Hermione didn't drop her expression right away, partially due to her forgetting that she actually was putting on one. "The fact that you would even suggest such a thing, even as a joke, is positively insane!"

Ginny could barely hear her. For whatever reason unbeknownst to Hermione, this girl was on the verge of losing it. After another good minute of slamming the table with her fist and eventually falling off her chair, Ginny was finally managing to catch her breath, still giving off chuckles here and there.

"Are you done?" Hermione groaned.

"Oh yeah, I'm done," Ginny exhaled, picking herself up off the floor, using her stool for support. Upon making eye contact with Hermione once more, Ginny completely lost her composure, as she spat out, "It's just- you shoulda seen your face!"

Hermione wanted to get annoyed, but just couldn't. So she just gave a small chuckle of her own and rolled her eyes a final time, waiting once more for Ginny to recollect herself. Once she had done so, she offered one more question.

"Well, it's clearly not Ron… so who's the lucky guy?"

Before she could even come up with any sort of answer, a large roar erupted from Hermione's right, nearly sending her into the ceiling from fear causing her to give out a loud squeak. A bright green fluorescence filled the room before quickly dying. A familiar raven-haired teen now took up the position on the floor beside the dining table, but only was still for a few seconds. He would quickly launch himself up into a standing position between a shocked Hermione and Ginny with a slightly penitent grin on his face.

"It's been a while since I've done that." Harry offered, his eyes locked on Hermione.

She smiled.

A/N: I apologize again for the short and rather lackluster chapter, but I've had a rather busy week with this whole COVID-19 pandemic going about. I will try to get something else out in the next few days!


	4. Chapter 3: The Hill of the Boot

_**A/N: Thank you to those who have joined in thus far! It's absolutely thrilling to see the positive feedback I've been receiving so far. This chapter should be far better than the last one (hopefully). Fair warning, the beginning of this chapter (the dream) has dialogue (and dialogue only) that is straight from tGoF, and is not mine to own. Everything else other than **__**some**__** spoken words is my own writing. Anyway, thank you again for reading so far, and I hope you enjoy this next one!**_

**Chapter 3: The Hill of the Boot**

_It was so dark. How Frank was ever able to inch his way up the steps without tripping and falling was quite the spectacle. The voices were coming ever so closer now. He could hear the hush discussions taking place only feet in front of him, and one individual was giving commands in a hoarse whisper. He paused his climb just below the landing, out of view of the strange intruders. Frank demonstrated a complacency that one might either find brave or completely and undeniably stupid. He decided he needed a better look and walked up only one step closer. His eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus purely on the conversations in front of him. _

_"There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry." This voice belonged to a man, and only now were his words becoming coherent._

_"Later," said the hoarse one. From the little distance away, Frank could hear the way this man spoke. He was quite a potentate for what little his size must be, considering his voice. Even Frank felt his intimidation. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."_

_Frank took this as an opportunity to ascend a step further. At the squeak of wood scraping against wood, he did just that. He could see now what appeared to be two figures. One was standing, his stature weak, but not anywhere near as atypical as that of the thing sitting in the chair. He donned a thin black cloak that concealed almost all of him except the pallid gray skin of his head and hands and was nearly as tiny as he sounded. Frank listened further._

_Frank watched and listened to these clairvoyants for several minutes, and as each tick of the hand went by, his concern and fear only accumulated more and more. These maniacs had broken into an abandoned home to sit and discuss a murder plot in which the details were so outrageously nonsensical that Frank wasn't able to decide what should be done. He knew he would have to eventually call the police, of course. But what to say? The only names he had been given were Wormtail and some boy named Harry Potter. He was the end target of their pathological scheme- that Frank was sure of. Wanting more, he continued to listen, rooted to his spot._

_"One more murder… my faithful servant at Hogwarts… Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more arguments. But quiet… I think I hear Nagini."_

_At this, Frank could hear the man's voice turn into a sinuous hiss. He sounded as though he was having a bit of a fit now. Suddenly, Frank could hear the wooden stairs slightly creak behind him, indicating the frightening presence of another. He slowly turned his head, and his heart sank in terror. A sizable green serpent was scaling its way past him, passing Frank as though he was its bête noire. As it entered the room of the intruders, Frank could see the reflection of flames dancing off the serpent's glassy scales. He knew this was his time to flee, but seemed paralyzed to his position beneath the landing._

_The thing by the fire continued to hiss, now accompanied by the snake which coiled around him. After a brief moment, he stopped, and slightly turned to the other man, "Wormtail, Nagini has just informed me of the presence of an uninvited guest. An old Muggle has been listening to our every word, and stands just outside the door."_

_Frank had no chance to respond to this and felt as though the glue beneath his soles had finally dried. The door to the room, only halfway open prior, was flung open by the man known as Wormtail. He stood a bit hunched, but his dirty and ugly features were now completely on display for Frank. He said nothing, but gave a malicious smile._

_The thing by the fire spoke. "Don't be rude, my servant. Invite him in. He is our guest, after all." _

_Wormtail obeyed this command and beckoned Frank in the room. In no place to protest, Frank entered the dusty and decrepit box that these two had been holed up in. He still couldn't see the thing in the chair, as his back was turned entirely to the flames. Wormtail shut the door behind him._

_"I will waste no time here, Muggle. I am rather drained," the thing announced, pausing for a moment. "I do not take kindly to eavesdropping. Especially from someone of your kind."_

_"I don't know who you are, but you're not allowed to be in here. And after everything I've heard, I'm going to have to call the police," Frank declared, hoping his fright wasn't caught in his voice. However, the thing in the chair simply laughed, before a dry cough caught his throat._

_"You dare try and tell me what I can and cannot do, Muggle?" the thing wheezed. "Wormtail, turn me around. Let me give our guest a proper greeting!"_

_Wormtail whimpered slightly before making his way to his master. The servant grabbed the backrest with a hand without a finger and spun the chair around delicately. The last thing Frank would ever see is the horrid features of the thing and a blast of green light that would suddenly end his screams._

Harry shot upwards. His breathing was labored, and sweat was condensing upon his pale skin and raven hair. Tears were hotly pooling ever so slightly, as a mix of anger and fear boiled deep inside. He wanted to scream- or punch something- maybe both. He took a moment to get himself together before slowly laying back down upon his pillow. The contact was wet and cold from his perspiration and sent sickly shivers down Harry's entire body. His stomach suddenly groaned at this, causing Harry to quickly hunch his way out of bed, and speed-walk to the loo of the Burrow, trying his best not to wake anyone. He would save himself the embarrassment.

Harry quickly but carefully opened the door and fell to the toilet, releasing all of his stomach contents into the bowl. The nauseating sensations were barely enough to distract Harry from the events of his nightmare. No, it wasn't the first time he had this exact one, but it was so much more vivid this time. These dreams or visions were always experienced vicariously… but this one felt so _real. _That poor man- these poor people- they didn't deserve to suffer at the end of Voldemort's wand. Harry never felt so powerless as he did right at this moment, vomiting violently into a toilet bowl all because of a bad dream.

After about half a minute, Harry managed to cease his hurling. Weakened, he flushed the toilet and wiped the corners of his lips with the back of his palm. He scooted his back to the wall opposite the throne and hugged his knees, his head hanging in between. A moment passed, and Harry was struggling to fight the tears that threatened to overcome him. Eventually, his inflicted mind gave in, and the silent sobs began.

His emotions had blinded his physical senses, unable to recognize the slight motion occurring just outside the room. The only thing aware to Harry right now was fear. Harry Potter was afraid; afraid of Voldemort, and of his own ability to defeat him. He knew that's what it would come down to in the end. With everything that's happened, Harry knew he would have to be the one to end it. After all, it practically started with him.

Having regained some composure, Harry took the collar of his drying shirt and wiped the teardrops that had fallen on his cheeks. He slowly inhaled and exhaled, his body still trembling from the awful morning experience he had just encountered.

Suddenly, a knock from outside brought Harry's senses back to normal. He jolted upright at the sound of a warm and comforting voice coming muffled through.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, barely audible. Even her voice was enough to brighten Harry's mood, despite the nature of his current predicament.

"Yeah, it's me. Don't worry, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather is all," Harry croaked, licking his chapped lips slowly. Hermione didn't respond for a moment, and Harry was wondering if she actually took off. But eventually, and much to Harry's relief, she spoke.

"Was it one of your nightmares?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but no sound other than a sigh emerged. He groaned in frustration, cursing himself for being so frail in front of her. He was supposed to be strong for her- for everyone- and yet, here he lay on the cold tile floor of a loo, unable to do just that.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, Hermione. It was."

Another pause.

"Can I come in?" she coaxed soothingly.

Harry grimaced at the thought of them having a conversation in the loo in which he just got sick in, and slowly stood up to his feet.

"No, I'll come out there." As he reached for the doorknob, Harry gave himself a quick look-over in the mirror, taking notice of his awful shabby appearance that was held over him. His bright green eyes completely contrasted his pale skin, and he looked somewhat skinnier than the night before. He rapidly washed his face along with rinsing his mouth once or twice before taking another gander at his reflection.

_'It's better than before, at least.'_

Sighing in partial defeat, Harry slowly opened the door with what felt like a loud squeak to see a concerned-looking Hermione Granger waiting on the other side. She was dressed in a fluffy red and yellow robe along with plaid pajama bottoms. Judging by the current state of her _extremely _bushy hair, Hermione had to have just woken up.

Harry found himself in shock at what was usually a completely normal sight. He found his mind in a place utterly foreign to what he had just been thinking. _'Was she always this… adorable?'_ he pondered, before almost physically shaking it away. Since when had he thought about her like that? _'She's your best friend, you idiot. What in Merlin has gotten into you this morning?'_

Harry had almost forgotten where he was as he continued to give a blank stare at Hermione. She didn't seem to pick up on his inner dilemma- well- maybe not the inner dilemma he was currently focused on, at least.

"Are you alright?" she asked, although her knowing he would probably mask any severity there might have been in the situation.

Harry tried giving a smooth grin, "Yep, never better 'Mione." She gave him a look that ultimately expressed her opinion on that statement. Harry gave in with another sigh.

"Can we go walk outside?" he asked quietly. "I don't want anyone else to know about this right now. They'd only worry."

Hermione wanted to protest for a moment, yearning to tell her best friend that those same people want to help him; that they worry because they care for him, but she did not. Instead, she gave a gentle nod of her head, taking her place beside Harry as they tip-toed their way out of the Burrow.

Upon shuffling out of the Weasley residence in their slippers and into the outdoors, Harry marveled at the pleasant moment that encaptured him. Dawn was on the rise, and the grass was being impaled by the arrows of the Sun, only protected by the tiny droplets of water condensed on the blades. The dew was formed only by the cool, saturated air that clung down to their level, and Harry could smell its pulchritude. He felt Hermione slip her hand into his, and he naturally gave it a soft squeeze in acknowledgment. They walked out only a small bit, following the stones that rested upon the earth to avoid any soggy socks to deal with later.

They quickly discussed Harry's unfortunate morning and the nightmare behind it. It didn't take long for Hermione to start thinking of solutions to his problem in her head. Harry smiled to himself as he watched her stare down towards the ground at nothing, her mind clearly brainstorming.

Harry took this time to take one more gaze at the horizon before he eventually espied Hermione doing the same, her critical thinking process apparently abandoned for now. Suddenly, at this very moment, it would appear to him that her shine and enchantment was far greater than that of their beloved star and sky, therefore leaving them behind. Hermione would, only seconds later, do the same.

Now, only enticed by one another, Harry spoke, "Hermione, I've been meaning to say something for a while now; something that I felt I should do face to face, and not over some stupid letter," he proclaimed, his attention only on her eyes at this point. For some reason unbeknownst to him, Hermione's cheeks appeared to redden.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, not knowing what was to come next.

Harry's hand was still firmly grasped in hers, and she could feel him squeeze ever so slightly once more. "Look, the past three years of my life seem to always end up life-threatening for the both of us, and I just…" Harry groaned, looking down to play with Hermione's fingers that were intertwined with his. "I'm sorry, Hermione. You've been here for me since the day we met on the Hogwarts Express and have saved my arse too many times to count." Harry looked back up. "I've never properly thanked you. So… thank you, 'Mione. For everything."

Hermione was visibly tearing up now, and Harry could feel his heart drop ever so slightly. Before he could out his fears, his best friend practically leaped into his arms, hugging him with all her might. Harry, although extremely confused, returned the hug graciously.

"Uh, was it something I said?" Harry queried.

Hermione giggled into his shoulder. "Of course it was, you absolute git! But it clearly wasn't anything bad!"

Harry relaxed into Hermione's warm embrace at this, now managing to hold her even tighter than before.

"You don't need to be sorry, Harry. I'll always be here for you," she murmured, her lips just above his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

"As will I, Hermione. As will I."

They held each other for a time unknown to them as they both attempted to savor this moment. That was until a particular redhead silently approached from the Burrow.

"Just what the bloody hell is going on here?" Ron's high-pitched voice questioned, nearly causing Harry to lose his tight grip on Hermione. The two now both tried to separate as fast humanly possible, both a bit scarlet in the face. "What're you two cuddling in the yard for?"

Hermione managed to gain her composure ever so slightly. "We just didn't get the chance to talk last night, is all," she breathed as she poorly attempted to tame her bushy mane and flatten her pants. Harry did his best to add to the conversation.

"I got here a little late last night, remember?"

Ron raised his eyebrows, "So that means you wake up at 7 in the morning just to have Hermione practically tackle you in front of my home?" Harry and Hermione were left speechless at this. Ron simply shook his head with a smirk.

"You two are bloody mental, you know? Come on, we're supposed to be leaving for the Cup in an hour. You can hug later." The pair made no move to argue with their friend, as they all walked wordlessly back to the Burrow, with each asking themselves their own set of questions that curiosity had still brought upon.

* * *

Hermione felt her stomach start to churn in only a matter of seconds. She couldn't see anything clearly. The only sensation was that of the wind howling in her ears. Suddenly, she felt herself collide with the ground, and the roaring of the wind had ceased to that of a calm zephyr. The world was still going in circles around her, and Hermione couldn't possibly dare to try and stand yet.

She heard a few thuds and groans around her, along with those that came accompanied by her own. After she managed to gain some sort of visual stability, Hermione struggled but eventually took notice of the few wizards who were already properly standing, as they all chuckled to themselves in bemusement. Cedric and Amos Diggory were the majority among that group, including Mr. Weasley.

Hermione was still struggling to shake the disorientation away, as she felt the familiar presence of another approach swiftly.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" Harry asked as he knelt beside her. She now found herself able to get on her hands and knees, her eyes adjusting to the green beneath her. Hermione saw Harry stand up out of the corner of her eye.

"Yeah, I'm just a bit dizzy," she sighed, now attempting to balance to her feet. Harry quickly placed his hands around her arms to assist. This was usually a gesture that Hermione might find slightly irritating. However, she knew Harry wasn't out to help all her because he thought she lacked strength. He would do that for anyone, no matter their brains or brawn. And besides, there was no way she would refuse Harry's touch that she so longingly craved, despite its reality.

"Thanks," Hermione exhaled as she successfully wobbled to her feet, Harry's grip now firmly on her waist.

"You know, for someone who seems to talk quite adept on the ins and outs of portkeys," Mr. Diggory chortled to himself, "Your execution is a bit off, my dear."

Hermione gave off a weak laugh herself, slightly embarrassed with her current situation. "Well, books can only get me so far. I've never actually traveled by portkey before, Mr. Diggory."

"Oh please, my dear: away with that formal wishy-washy nonsense. Call me Amos." The stout man said, giving off another hearty chuckle. Hermione gave a more relieved smile now, nodding in affirmation of Amos's request.

The man raised his beady eyes above Hermione's level and quickly adjusted his spectacles, gazing past. "Oh my, I always forget just how much of a walk this is."

Spinning around, the sight before Hermione could've sent her jaw to the dirt, in a way similar to how Harry looked at the moment. Atop the hill of the boot was a clear vantage point of the Quidditch World Cup in all its glory. They both marveled at the number of witches and wizards crowded down the plains below them, as thousands were cheering and dancing. Tents of different sizes, shapes, and colors dotted the fields for as far as the eye could see. And the quintessence of it all was the colossal stadium that had been erected at the very end of it all, miles away from their current position.

Hermione groaned inwardly. She could hear Ron walk up to her left with a murmured "bloody hell," as Harry on her right still hadn't managed to close his mouth.

"Welp, we should get a move on. Our tent is set up down there…" Mr. Weasley announced, pointing to the sea of heads, "...somewhere." Arthur took the lead and began to march, but not before stopping to address the Diggory's splitting to get to their own tent, and that they'd meet before the game starts.

With that, the group marched off into what Mr. Weasley seemed to believe was the general direction of their tent. As they did their best to not crash into any strangers, Hermione took a mental note of the various sounds and smells that permeated her senses. Different ethnicities from around the wizarding world had come together for one united event. That was something that Hermione found positively brilliant.

As to her usual luck, Hermione felt herself collide with another large mass. A wizard, who she had to suffer the wrath of his sweaty stench, knocked into Hermione without notice, sending her flying back into the broad arms of another with a sudden squeal.

"Woah, watch where you are going!" the man holding her shouted, his deep voice dripping with a thick Russian accent.

Hermione was quick to get back on her own two feet. "I'm so sorry. I've been rather clumsy today. I should've been paying better attention. Sorry," she convulsed rapidly, wanting to sprint away. Before she could manage her escape, however, the stranger spoke again.

"I was talking to the man who hit you," he said, his voice much fainter than previously. Hermione was facing him now, and the first thing she noticed was his staggering height that dominated her own. He was equipped with a red and black robe, with hair similar to that of a buzz cut. This would typically give a sort of aggressive look, but his soft facial features seemed to overpower that aspect.

"Oh," was all Hermione managed to say.

"Are you hurt?"

"Nope. Thank you."

The man gave a small nod. "I need to be going now. Be careful."

And with that, he walked off, disappearing into the storm. Hermione took a second to gather her bearings before taking notice of someone calling her name. She looked towards the general direction and took sight of Harry waving her over, setting her back in motion. As Hermione approached him, however, she noticed Ron right by his side with a shocked expression once again plastered on his face. Upon strolling up, Harry opened up with questions.

"What happened? Are you-"

"How the bloody hell did you start a conversation with _him?_" Ron cut him off with dismay, still staring at Hermione like he'd just witnessed a murder.

The other two each gave a confused and concerned pair of eyes in return, neither not entirely sure who he was rambling about. "What now, Ronald? If you have a problem, could you save it for later? I just nearly got ran over by a troll, and am in no mood."

"Don't you know who that is? That's Viktor bloody Krum, Hermione," Ron said, appearing to have ignored any of Hermione's previous statements. "Please don't tell me you don't know who Viktor Krum is?"

Hermione gave him an answer with only a mere look. Instead of having her wait for Ron to try and build suspense, Harry cut in with a simple explanation.

"He's Bulgaria's seeker."

It was Harry's turn to be at the end of Ron's reprimands. "He's more than just a seeker Harry. You know that! He's the best seeker in the world!" he said, his head shifting back and forth between his two slightly amused friends before eventually stopping back on Harry. "Well, maybe not as good as you, of course."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So that's who practically just saved my life?" Hermione smirked, drifting her attention to Harry. "You might need to stay on alert, Potter. I think someone's trying to take your place as my hero."

Harry shone a deep pink at this, but Ron was looking a little hurt at her words.

"Hey, what about me? I think I deserve some credit for saving your life," he whined, disappointed. "Remember the _actual _troll? In First Year? I was there, wasn't I?"

"Oh, don't worry, Ron, you can share the spot," Hermione laughed softly, giving Harry a quick wink as Ron marched past her, still somewhat glum over her assessment.

"Come on," he mumbled. "Ginny's waiting outside the tent for us."

At this, the Trio took off to the tent, with Harry and Hermione trailing Ron side-by-side.

* * *

"That was absolutely brilliant!" Ron exclaimed.

The Tournament had ended only minutes ago, and the Trio had split off from the others to roam about the fields that were now slowly emptying. The game had lasted for hours, and Harry assumed it must have been at least two in the morning if his sudden yawns were anything to go by.

"We should probably just head back. It's quite dark, and I'm getting a bit sleepy." Harry said, yawning again.

Ron was practically dancing in front of him at this point, and Hermione seemed just as tired and worn out as he was judging by her slumped posture.

"How could you possibly sleep with all this excitement?" he asked before taking a gander at Hermione and adding, "You both are mental." At that, Ron took off ahead of them, continuing to frolic and gambol about like a little girl. Harry and Hermione let themselves have a chuckle despite their exhaustion.

For a brief moment, the two did not speak nor move, other than Hermione nestling into the crook of Harry's arm and the swinging of their legs. They both walked in silence at first, enjoying the little calm that this day managed to bring at its end.

"I missed this," Hermione whispered, both to herself and the boy by her side. That same boy didn't need to validate his understanding, knowing all too well what she was talking about. However, airing it felt necessary, and Harry did just that.

"Believe me, I did too."

Hermione couldn't help but put a small grin on her cheeks at his words. Hearing him utter the words of his emotions was all she truly wanted to hear.

They continued to walk for a while, each staring glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. At one point, the two made to look simultaneously, causing each to feel the heat rise to their cheeks.

"I meant what I said earlier."

They stopped walking, Harry's features requesting an explanation.

"When I said you're my hero, Harry. And no, I know what you're probably thinking, but it's not because you're the Boy Who Lived, or because of a murderer who left you orphaned that famed your name. No, Harry's my hero. Just Harry. I just… you need to know that." Hermione stuttered, her emotions starting to get the best of her.

She was looking into Harry's eyes with something fierce and determined, tears brimming at the edges of her own. Instead of even trying to speak, Harry tried something he'd never done before, giving her a hug similar to the one that she always gave him when he was down.

Relief came in when Hermione returned the hug, nestling her bushy hair into the crook of his neck. Harry could feel her unsteady breath against his skin, resulting in a trail of goosebumps down his spine that made him shiver in delight. They stood there with each other for what felt like the shortest moment of their lives until Hermione backed away, wiping her tears, a bit embarrassed at her own display of emotions.

But before Harry could reassure her with his own thoughts and feelings, he noticed as people began to scream. Only behind it all could a low ringing be heard as it inched closer and closer, as though ready to summon the ghosts of the dark.

**Next Chapter: Quotidian Quoins**

_**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was quite longer than the first two and felt much better done to me overall. From how this has progressed so far, I have decided that this story will follow the same essential plot of tGoF, but I will definitely be making some rather large changes in regards to how it is executed. Otherwise, I feel it would be a bit boring for me to write and for you to read as a whole. Anyway, I don't know when the next chapter will be released, but it shouldn't be terribly long. **_

_**Thank you for reading,**_

_**A fellow reader and writer**_


	5. Chapter 4: Quotidian Quoins

_**A/N: Thank you for coming to read yet another short chapter. I know that I haven't updated in a bit, and I am sorry for that. I've recently lost my uncle to COVID, and have been dealing with family issues in general. I have been trying to take some time to get myself in check before writing anything. I even had this chapter near completion not too long ago and eventually decided to scrap the whole thing, as I did not like how it turned out all that much. It was basically going to go through the events that had taken place at the attack of the World Cup, but I decided to end it, as I thought it felt a bit too boring. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's mainly just fluff this time. I promise to get out something more soon!**_

**Chapter 4: Quotidian Quoins**

A lot had happened in the past ten minutes.

Hermione flopped stomach-first onto the ground and coughed, a little disoriented upon exiting the ear-gushing maelstrom that- she only just had the misfortune of discovering today- came with portkey travel. The world was hushed now. It had most certainly not been only a few moments ago. The Quidditch World Cup became the battleground of a small and sudden blitz, ignited only by the followers of the most irritating cacodemon to ever walk the Earth: Voldemort.

Hermione managed to climb to her feet. Fiercely, she swatted at her clothes, trying her best to fix the probable grisly appearance she was wearing at the moment. Not that it would matter, however. The sky was no longer glowing the orange tint it had been at the Cup, nor was there a phantasmagoric skull swimming in the clouds. The night was genuinely existing now. The moon and the stars had replaced the fire and ice, and all was calm. To her left, Harry solemn stood, his stare focused on nothing, mind somewhere else. Ron had clearly noticed Harry's static posture as well and joined Hermione, the two proceeding to exchange a look of uncertainty. Sighing to herself, Hermione slowly approached Harry on his right and put a hand on his shoulder. He managed to snap out of his trance at this, his head turning to look at the point of contact and producing a feeble, lopsided smile.

"Are you okay?" Harry said. He now turned to face Hermione while he ran a hand through his raven hair, revealing his jagged scar briefly. Despite the circumstances, Hermione let forth an eye roll.

"I honestly believe we ask that to each other far too much."

Harry's smile managed to grow a bit at this and gave a soft chuckle through his nostrils.

"Well, I'd rather it be too much instead of not enough." Hermione wasn't sure how to respond to that but just went with an agreeing smirk. However, it quickly faded as her expression turned owlish once more. Harry took notice.

"_Are _you okay?"

Before she could reply, a jubilant voice called out, "Hey, Lovebirds!" The pair turned around, Hermione only then realizing that Ron had waltzed away during her and Harry's brief conversation. However, it was not Ron who was mockingly calling for them, but Fred… or was it George? It was rather dark, and it was hard to identify who was who, even with a solid look.

"You two can make out later!"

"Just don't do it at the dinner table!"

"People are meant to eat _food_ at the dinner table, not _lips!"_

"Right you are, Gred!"

"Naturally, Forge. Naturally."

And with that, the twins danced off towards the Burrow, leaving the two teens frozen in the clearing blushing madly, although neither was able to tell the other was. Neither of them was able to produce a word for a moment or two until Harry suddenly spoke.

"Was it just me, or was that one of the most confusing human interactions I've ever witnessed?" Hermione blinked a few times, her mouth slightly unhinged and agape. Her face was finally beginning to cool down a tad bit before returning Harry's comment with a shrug of her shoulders and a nod of her head.

"We should get to the Burrow. We don't want them thinking we got kidnapped or something. We'll talk later," she blurted.

"Uh, okay. Talk later…" Harry replied, stunned. But before he could even finish that statement, Hermione had already taken off.

* * *

Harry never got the chance to properly talk with Hermione alone since that early morning after the Cup. He was with her at the Burrow for the remaining two weeks of the summer, and yet he could never seem to catch her at the proper moment. Harry spent a majority of time playing Quidditch with Ron and the twins, whilst Hermione would read a book and watch, or sometimes go and whisper back and forth with Ginny. What they would always be talking about, Harry never knew, and a large part of him didn't even want to know, despite his curiosity.

There were several occasions where Harry would catch Hermione doing homework would immediately grab his things and join her… voluntarily. This, naturally, came as a pleasant surprise to the studious bookworm who typically had to enforce the Boy Who Lived to do his assignments. Unsurprisingly, however, Ron still continued to pressure Harry into abandoning the rest of the work and begged him to come back and play Quidditch. Hermione would clearly try and block him out, but Harry could practically hear her eyes rolling whenever Ron was pestering him. But even despite his best mate's begging, Harry found himself wanting to stay with Hermione even if it came with the price of a tremendous amount of homework. After a while, Ron actually would claim to have gotten bored by himself and would join them in their homework sessions. Although, these would usually result in Ron complaining a substantial amount of the time, but he was at least trying.

There were, in fact, multiple occasions in which Harry and Hermione were utterly alone when doing their homework. But Harry was never able to take the chance of interrupting her studies, for he knew that could end in a million, terrifying, unprecedented ways. While amidst many different assignments, Harry would also catch his focus drifting uncontrollably, as though magnetically pulling to what his eyes would always land on, which was Hermione herself.

He wasn't sure why. He just found himself staring, fascinated by the way Hermione looked when she was reading or writing, or just focusing. Harry wanted to take note of every tick, every nibble of her lip, every finger brush of her curly hair. And although he found these little movements of hers oh so endearing, he couldn't help but feel a bubbling nervous in his stomach, again for reasons unknown. Every time Harry found himself examining her face like this, he would get that queasy feeling inside and would force himself to stop. He had no clue what was wrong with him. _'You're supposed to be there for her. You're not supposed to be there to stare at her,' _Harry would think.

There was one instance in which she had actually caught him looking. Harry had picked up her recognition immediately and tried his best to go back to his work, which actually made him realize he couldn't remember what it was that he was supposed to be doing. After a few seconds of thinking he was in the clear, her voice sounded.

"Are you stuck with something, Harry?" she asked, not moving her eyes from the book she was reading. Harry froze, but quickly regained his composure…

"Huh?"

Hermione lifted her head this time and gave Harry a quizzical look, "You haven't even touched the parchment you took out. Is everything okay?" Harry huffed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I'm just thinking, that's all," he sighed, before adding slyly, "And I thought you said 'we ask questions like that too much?'" Hermione actually giggled at that, before turning her attention back to her book."And I thought you said 'too much is better than not enough?'"

Harry grinned, despite himself, "Touché."

The moment seemed to stretch into an awkward silence before Ron called Harry from downstairs, "Harry! You wanna help with a bit of degnoming?" Harry saw this as an out of the oddly tense situation and looked to Hermione, but not before yelling back a confirmation.

"You wanna come? I'm sure we could use the help."

Hermione scoffed. "Degnoming? No, thank you," she said, but kindly adding, "Unless they do need the help, that is." Harry gave her a sad smile at this, not wanting to leave her up here all by her lonesome.

"Do you want to come outside and watch, at least? I'd be _really_ miserable without you 'Mione." Harry scrunched his cheeks at this, giving Hermione the best puppy dog eyes he could conjure. It seemed to have worked because, after a determined look at his face, she quickly and loudly groaned, rolling onto her back while tossing her book aside, draping her forearm over her eyes. The act of frustration was outed, however, by the happy grin etched on her features.

"Damn you, Potter."

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Language, Ms. Granger."

* * *

Stepping into Platform 9**3**/4 was always as though you were walking into a parallel dimension. Hermione always valued the facade that was the brick wall between Platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross, as the mystical train waiting just beyond it was where she, only a few years ago, would meet her first-ever best friends. The familiar setting soothed the psychopathy that accompanied life at the Burrow. Not that Hermione was complaining, mind you. The Weasley's were just a tad bit ebullient compared to what she was used to. Being the only daughter of a muggle family wasn't typically that… boisterous.

The train was departing in only a few minutes, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were struggling to slither through the crowd of parents who were trying to wave their children off. They had already given their goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who thought it best not to push their luck by pushing through the swarm of people. And luckily for Molly, she no longer needed to deliver a particular rat to Ron who he would've probably forgotten, had he still had him, that is.

Upon boarding the train, the Trio made their way towards their usual compartment, this time fortunate enough to find it uninhabited. After then storing their luggage (and after Hermione managed to nab one of her books), the three sat on the red-cushioned seats, with Hermione and Harry opposite Ron. Hermione immediately motioned to set her back against the wall adjacent to the door of the compartment, making sure that she could get a peak or two at Harry whenever she wanted, despite whatever she kept thinking to convince herself otherwise.

A significant amount of time had passed, and for the majority of that time, the three of them discussed the events that had taken place after the Quidditch World Cup. Harry, surprisingly, hadn't said much about it since the night it actually happened. Hermione had been robust in voicing her aggression against Barty Crouch, who she couldn't believe had the _nerve_ to go and start accusing Harry of casting the Dark Mark that night just on pure speculation. Harry had tried to calm her down every time she would bring Crouch up, saying that "it's not a big deal," which

only set off Hermione even more.

After an hour of looking back, Hermione went back to her book, although not really. She had only turned three pages in the next twenty minutes, her eyes continuing to levitate to Harry, who had been staring at the window aimlessly. Looking at Ron, she caught the rather gross site of him sleeping, his head tilted back and nestled against the corner of the seat and the wall, his mouth unhinged and opened slightly, which allowed for his snoring to become echoey and audible. Grimacing, Hermione tabbed a page in her book and set it down beside her. She took a mindless scooch closer to Harry.

"You ready to go back?" Hermione asked, causing Harry to turn round. He smiled.

"Are you kidding? I've never been _more _ready," he stretched his back a bit, "I'm just dying for a normal year of school for once." Hermione frowned to herself at this, which was not as 'to herself' as she intended, for Harry got a glimpse. This made him frown as well.

"I know, I know… I'm not exactly a normal kid, I know."

Hermione squinted. "Well, that wasn't what I was thinking," she declared, insinuating Harry to purse his lips. "I was going to say that you actually deserve one- a good year, I mean- a normal year." Harry gave a low hum of his throat and turned his head to look back at the window, evidently not sure how he should respond to that. Checking once more to see if Ron was still asleep, Hermione gave a small gulp before scooting right up next to Harry so that their sides were touching, and placed her bushy head upon his shoulder. She could feel him become rigid at the unanticipated contact, not moving a muscle other than his eyes, of which Hermione could not see. Hermione's face felt very heated, convincing her that she might manage to burn a hole through Harry's tee. It was only a long minute later than Harry fully relaxed with the close contact and even managed to speak as well.

"You know, you're the first person who's ever hugged me?" Hermione let off a small, involuntary gasp at this and craned her neck to try and read Harry's face, but ultimately failed to do so, as she only got the most delightful view of his chin. He cleared his throat quickly, which Hermione could feel and hear through his shoulder. "I mean, I'm sure my parents had hugged me when I was little, but I don't exactly remember it."

Hermione wasn't sure what to do at this point, so she just resorted to pulling herself even tighter against Harry, as though afraid he would vanish if she didn't. Harry didn't refuse.

"You already know how my relatives are. The only physical contact they gave me were punches to the stomach." Hermione was developing warm tears in her eyes, and they had just started to leak down her cheeks. She just couldn't comprehend how a pair of individuals could be so cold-hearted and cruel to the little boy that Harry Potter once was. If that little boy was anything like the Harry she knew, the idea of even yelling at him felt impossible to her. Hermione felt a mixture of anger and sadness, setting forth to burst at any moment.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice on the verge of sobs. The breath from her lips on his neck was giving Harry an unprecedented series of chills and shivers that he strived to savor. Harry unexpectedly lifted his arm and draped it across Hermione's shoulder, causing her to bury her face in his shoulder, her lips pressed against his neck. The breath from her mouth on his neck was giving Harry an unprecedented series of chills and shivers that he strived to savor.

Every part of Hermione was screaming at her to move, and yet every part was forcing her to stay. She could stay, right here, for the rest of her life, and nobody could convince her to do anything otherwise. Her books had come far in second to the feeling this moment was giving her. _That_ had never happened before.

"I don't want you apologizing, okay? You're here now, aren't you?" Harry murmured, before adding, seemingly for himself, "You've been here since day one."

"And don't think you can get rid of me," Hermione proclaimed, her face still buried, her voice muffled. This brought forth a chuckle from both teens. Hermione then sniffled and turned her head to breathe in the cooler air. Ron had barely moved from his odd sleeping position, somehow completely knocked out even after a solid ten hours of a night's rest.

"I must look like a mess right now," Hermione exhaled.

Harry bent forward slightly, in efforts to get a quick look at her. It only took him a few seconds to hush, "A pretty mess," in which he had meant to say far quieter than he had. Hermione had turned scarlet once more, and Harry, realizing what he had done, visibly grimaced to himself. His eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth were bare and clenched, as though he had stubbed his toe against the leg of a table. Harry ran his hand through his hair but didn't remove it.

He had not meant to say that at all.

* * *

_**A/N: Once again, I do apologize for how short this chapter had turned out. I've been having one rollercoaster of a month. I hope that you at least enjoy the amount of fluff this chapter, and once more, promise to get more out soon. I hope y'all are doing well and staying safe. Take care. **_

_**Thank you,**_

_**A fellow reader and writer.**_


	6. Chapter 5: Pedagogy for Ponces

**_A/N: Thank you once again for tuning into another chapter. I know a lot of the story so far has just been fluff, but the story will divert a bit farther very shortly, especially this chapter. This one is much longer than the last and isn't as fluffy. This is where the story really starts to take a turn. I just had to get the introductory stuff out of the way first. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!_**

**_Chapter 5: Pedagogy for Ponces_**

Over a month had passed since Hermione's fourth year at Hogwarts had officially commenced, and she could not be any more thrilled. Not much had actually occurred so far in comparison to the adventures of her first three years; there were no mysterious incidents, no secret monster roaming the corridors in pursuit of students, no alleged mass murder stalking about for her best friend. Everything had been completely and utterly ordinary.

But part of her felt that wasn't going to last. Hermione couldn't stand feeling that way. There was just this piece of her mind that believed the more she convinced herself that everything would be alright, the less it actually would be. She didn't want to jinx anything.

Hermione was currently seated in the library studying her astronomy charts, which mainly provided the importance of the stars in that made of Cygnus, the northern constellation. She had been keeping herself busy here for quite the myriad of time, for times like these made it irrelevant. Her mind and body were wholly divided at the moment. It was a unique skill Hermione prided herself for- the way she could remove herself from her current environment through mere focus. Time seemed to move faster at these moments and became a phenomenon that she treasured and loathed equally. For example, her time in the library, Hermione felt, had been rather extensive today, and would probably need to make haste to the Great Hall soon if she wanted to make it for dinner in time.

Mumbling in frustration, Hermione neatly- although rather forcefully- packed and shoved her things into her leather canvas bag. Slinging it over her shoulder and tucking a book in her arm, she took off for the corridors, giving a small "Goodbye" to Madam Pince, although she had not appeared to have heard her.

Before she could even get a few steps out of the library, Hermione had managed to collide directly into one of the only people she loathed (other than Malfoy, of course) at Hogwarts: Professor Snape.

Falling directly onto her bottom and losing her book to the floor, Hermione gave out a surprised and painful yelp. Snape, in contrast, had barely even swayed from the sudden impact and was just staring down at Hermione with irritation.

"What are you doing on the floor, Granger?" Snape sneered. Hermione launched back up to her feet. She could feel her blood begin to boil from the embarrassment and anger beginning to brew inside her. It was more directed toward herself at the moment, rather than the Professor who was watching the disaster of an incident unfold. Quickly readjusting her bag strap on her shoulder and mumbling a feeble apology to Snape, who obviously didn't reply, Hermione began to speed-walk away. However, the Potions Master yelled out once more, forcing Hermione to slowly and fearfully turn back around.

Snape simply withdrew his wand- almost making Hermione instinctively pull out her own- and began to levitate her book, which was still sitting face down and open where she had lost it after falling. Realizing her error, Hermione froze, while the book slowly floated into her hands. Muttering a quick thank you and desperate as ever to escape this perturbation of a moment, Hermione made to turn and leave, before Snape stopped her once again.

"And I believe you belong in the Great Hall for dinner, Granger… which is in the _opposite _direction," he scorned, somehow managing to turn Hermione into an even brighter shade of magenta. She practically ran past the Professor, this time without a word, cursing herself in her head after hearing him utter, "Idiot girl," as she left. It only added to her list of self-deprecating expressions.

_'Honestly, Hermione, everyone claims you to be so smart, and yet you walk around acting like an absolute dunce!" _Hermione had a bad habit of belittling herself in embarrassing situations such as this recent accident after running into- or, well, after getting run over- by her Potions Professor.

As she took stride down the castle halls, Hermione accomplished to let off some of the steam that had been building up inside. She noticed that she had been particularly moody to begin with, even waking up that morning with some deep frustration in her veins. The only time it seemed to disappear was when she was knee-deep in her school work, or when she was reading a book. Hermione wasn't entirely sure why she kept seeing red but eventually resorted to the typical teenage quandary of hormones and such, and let the task of finding the source slip away.

_'It's just one of those days," _she concluded, before resuming her march.

About a minute or two later, Hermione arrived at the grand gateway of the Great Hall and strode into the rowdiness, no one paying her any mind. She caught sight of Ron's hair first, naturally, and began to approach from the opposite side of the table. She discovered a while ago that it was surprisingly higher of risk to sit next to Ron while he was eating rather than in front of him, for reasons Hermione couldn't even fathom. And on the plus side, she knew Harry had probably figured this one out a while ago as well, judging by his usual choice of seating.

Just as she expected (and possibly hoped) to see, Harry was sitting opposite of Ron who was consuming his food rather heinously, with an unoccupied spot just on his right. As though sensing her presence, Harry craned his neck to see Hermione walking up, flashing her one of his signature sideways smiles. These were the same smiles that always managed to make her stomach feel like she was back in the Tower of Terror, which Hermione was fortunate enough to ride after its opening in the States this past summer. The feeling she was experiencing right now, however, was far more pleasant than that of the Disney attraction.

"Where have you been?" Harry questioned as Hermione sat down, causing her to give a sly grin.

"Hey, yourself." Harry rolled his eyes but continued to smile.

"Hi… I was about to go looking for you-" Ron gave a clear of his throat at this, his mouth still stuffed with food. Hermione tried not to grimace.

"Sorry, _we _were about to go looking for you," Harry corrected, supplying Ron with a quick unsure glare to the side, which caused the redhead to roll his own eyes.

"Nof-" Ron gasped, still trying to shovel bits of food into his mouth, "I guarahnteef 'ee fwas at the librrrrareeh' Arry." Harry didn't respond while Hermione just groaned, particularly after the moment Ron accidentally spat pieces of food across the table when he tried to say 'library.'

"Thanks for the concern, Ronald," Hermione monotoned, although causing Ron to innocently shrug his shoulders. "Remarkably, Ron here was actually correct for once," she motioned to Harry, ignoring her other friend's groans of disagreement. "I was only at the library. I've just had a busy day. I guess I just got caught up in all the work."

Harry creased his lips and provided a small nod of his head. "Well, just be glad you made it before the other schools were introduced." Hermione's eyes seemed to pop out of her skull at this, a dumbfounded expression forming on her face.

"That's today? Already? Merlin…" Hermione guffawed. The students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were recently announced to have been coming to Hogwarts. For what reason, no one was entirely sure, but Hermione had immediately made an ultimate suspicion, which was practically confirmed by the large jewel casket that had been residing in the front of the Great Hall for a week. She had read about the particular item not that long ago, and if her suspicions were correct, then Hogwarts was in for an exciting year.

Thinking back, the sign that had been posted declared the students would be arriving the upcoming Friday, but Hermione had no clue that it was _that _close already.

Harry had been watching her think for a brief minute with concern. She had seen something like this happen before. "Hermione, you're doing it again." The witch seemed to snap out of her thought process then and was immediately followed by a curious fold of her eyebrows. Harry sighed, "Remember last year? Remember how overworked you were becoming?" Hermione showed recognition at this and turned slightly sheepish, darting her eyes to the ground.

"Sorry, you know how I get: I love learning."

Harry chuckled and scratched behind his ear. "Oh, and trust me, I wouldn't ever want that to change." He paused, running his hand through his hair once again, "I just don't want you at the point where you need to go… er… all 'Back to the Future' on us again." Harry seemed to be trying to hide Hermione's little time travel situation from Third Year, obviously not seeing the downside of referencing the one muggle movie in which the title literally describes what he's trying to be secretive about. But Hermione let it slide, finding his efforts a bit cute and endearing.

"You're right," Hermione said, hopefully sounding as serious as she intended, "But I promise you, I won't be letting _that _happen ever again." Harry seemed to believe her, for he snatched her hand underneath the table and gave it a soft squeeze, however turning his head toward the staff table. Hermione gave a delicate squeeze of her own in return, but did not move to let go afterward, nor did Harry. The two just sat in silence, unmoving, as they tried their hardest not to watch Ron consume his dessert like a barbarian.

It was only about five minutes later when a loud slam of the stone floor echoed from the entrance of the Great Hall, causing Harry and Hermione to untangle their hands and whip around to the source. An outpour of people had flooded swiftly into the chamber, each donning blood-red robes that covered them entirely. The students of Durmstrang had arrived.

* * *

Another ten minutes went by since both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had settled into their designated areas before Dumbledore walked to his podium to speak. Hermione had irritatingly noticed how almost all the males had practically been nonexistent since the girls of Beauxbatons had entered, drooling like hungry wolves in their direction. She'd read once that there'd been a large population of Veelas in the Academy, and they had a powerful charm that drew in men. Hermione had not expected, however, that the effects of the Veelas were really _that _extreme. Although, it would make sense in the situation that the men being charmed were actually just hormonal _teenagers._

Something that had been very pleasing to Hermione, however, was the fact that Harry appeared to be unaffected by the Veela charm. She saw him give a quick look once or twice but had otherwise remained attentive towards Dumbledore in the front, who had been busy conversing with the two heads of the other schools. He had eventually picked up on the vast majority of boys who had been just staring at the Beauxbatons table like she had, focusing mainly on Ron, who couldn't seem to pick his jaw up off the floor.

"I didn't seem to think the French were all _that _special," Harry confessed, an expression of mirth dancing in his eyes at the sight of his best friend's ogling. Hermione had to provide a giggle at this and proceeded to explain the Veela and their charm of seduction.

"Well, I don't seem to have any _lusty _desires towards them… should I?" Harry asked, a bit self-consciously. Hermione was simply shocked for a moment that one could be insecure about not falling for the power of magical seduction, and therefore taking her a second to respond.

"Well, there are really only two reasons I can think of that a Veela's charm wouldn't have an effect on someone," Hermione recounted, closing her eyes to try and bring back the memory of when she read this, "Either the individual being charmed is just naturally resistant to a Veela's power, which is very rare, or…" Hermione stopped and opened her eyes, really wanting to examine Harry's reaction to this.

"Or… more commonly… the individual being charmed is in love with somebody." Harry, who Hermione had anticipated would immediately reject the former explanation, actually did nothing. He seemed to just stare forward and think for a while, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds. Before he could get another word out, however, Dumbledore had begun to speak.

"Welcome! Welcome, all!" he bellowed, his wand pressed softly on the base of his throat. The commotion had immediately died, suggesting the other schools were already aware to not underestimate nor disrespect Dumbledore. "I want to wish a warm welcome to our guests, the students and delegations of the Durmstrang Institute and those of Beauxbatons Academy. Professor Karkaroff of Durmstrang and the lovely Madame Maxine, of course, Hogwarts welcomes you!" At this, all the students in the Hall had cheered, which Karkaroff seemed to show no reaction to.

"Now, our guests are already aware of why they are here, but my students are unfortunately not. However, before I go any further, I would like to give a few important words to our guests" Dumbledore declared, the chamber going completely silent once more. Some of the Hogwarts students could be heard chortling, probably aware of the gist of what was to come, but that quickly died out as well.

"Collywobbles, denim, grapefruit, hoshposh, adoration, moon. Thank you."

The Hogwarts students all joined in a riotous applause at this, while the visiting students gave each other puzzled looks, before slowly following in response, although nowhere near as ecstatically.

"Now! I will get straight to the point... if I can!" A bunch of the Hogwarts students laughed, while all others started to look nervous. Dumbledore, with his wand suddenly in hand, walked over to the jeweled casket. "Many centuries ago, the three largest schools in all of magical Europe would gather to host one large traditional event: The Triwizard Tournament!" With the wave of his wand, the casket seemed to turn a hot red and melt out of existence, revealing a large stone cup behind it, which suddenly inflamed a bright blue.

"This," Dumbledore boomed, "is the Goblet of Fire! If anyone of _you _seeks the eternal glory- yes, _eternal glory_\- of being a Champion, one would simply write their full name on a piece of parchment, and deposit it into the Goblet! But heed my warning now: this Tournament is not for the faint-hearted, for if the Goblet chooses you as a Champion, then you are entirely and ultimately on your own." Dumbledore gave a pause, letting that sink in.

"The Tournament will feature three unique and hazardous challenges; three challenges that you must figure out the details of on your own!"

"I, unfortunately, must announce, however, that due to how the Tournament had last unfolded, there will be a few rules implemented. The death of our students is not a subject we take lightly." The electric buzz that had been building throughout the room the past few minutes suddenly ceased, faces all around beginning to droop.

"One of the most important rules, I must detest, is the age restriction. If you are under the age of 17, the Goblet will not accept your name." Not even halfway through this statement, students had started to get slightly riled up, clearly unhappy with the circumstances. Dumbledore efficiently managed to stop this.

"Silence!" It took but a few seconds for his demand to take action. "I know that this is greatly disappointing to many of you, but I'm afraid this is necessary. Although not my decision, I do believe that this is the best course of action."

The mood had been effectively killed at this point. Harry, however, couldn't be happier. Even if he was tempted, for whatever reason, to enter this Tournament, he physically couldn't. Not only that, but there were less chances of someone dying this year! He wasn't quite in the mood to have his or anybody else's life in mortal danger _again _any time soon_. _Harry quickly noticed that most of his Gryffindors were very upset with the age restriction, especially Ron.

Part of Harry felt sympathy towards him. This Tournament probably had come with a ton of money, and Harry knew that Ron would have been ecstatic over the chance to help him and his family. Turning back to Hermione, he could tell she was probably thinking somewhere along the same lines if her solemn look towards Ron's pouty form was anything to go by.

Nudging her with his elbow, Harry whispered, "I know, this was a chance for him. But let's be honest, the prize for winning cannot be worth the risk." Hermione gave a hesitant nod in agreement, hopefully indicating that his words made her feel a tad bit better. Suddenly, a smile played on her lips as she looked down the table. Harry tried to follow her line of sight, finding them falling on the Twins, who appeared to be conversing meticulously while looking at the Goblet.

Harry laughed and gave a hearty groan, "That's not gonna end well."

"You're telling me? That's a disaster waiting to happen." Harry and Hermione shared a jovial laugh before Dumbledore made to finish his speech.

"Now, I will leave you for the night with this: all of you who wish to become a Champion must place their name in the Goblet by tomorrow night, for the selection will be made then. Only one lucky student from each school will be chosen, and those three Champions will compete until one comes out on top. With that said, you are dismissed."

_'This might be more interesting of a year than I hoped!' _Harry thought ecstatically.

* * *

_Dear Sirius,_

_Sorry for the delay, but not all that much has happened recently. Well, not until last night anyway. Do you know anything about the Triwizard Tournament? Two other schools have come to Hogwarts to have one student compete from each, and will apparently take up the entirety of the year. It sounds wicked if you ask me. Fortunately, there is an age restriction against who's allowed to enter for the chance to be selected, so hopefully, no one will die this year. They're supposed to be revealing the Champions tonight- actually about an hour from now- and I'm really hoping the Hogwarts Champion will be a Gryffindor. I'm not exactly familiar with any of the 7 Years from any of the other Houses. _

_Anyway, I wanted to quickly mention something that's been on my mind recently. You remember Hermione, right? My friend, who helped rescue you from damnation? Yeah, I'm sure you do. Look, it's kinda complicated, but I think I'm starting to have feelings for her. Like, feelings feelings. You know what I mean. But look, the point is, I'm bloody terrified! I don't know how girls work! And I don't know if I can risk the friendship I already have with her! She means too much to me, Sirius. I'm just confused, and you were the first person I thought to go to when it came to this._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry_

Sighing, Harry gently placed his quill on his desk and proceeded to fold the piece of parchment. Desperate to get rid of it as fast as magically possible, Harry ran to Hedwig and, with her permission, tied it to her legs.

"You think you could give this to Sirius, girl?" She gave a soothing hoot in return and immediately took flight out of Gryffindor Tower.

Harry, quickly checking his desk to make sure he hadn't left anything private out for view first, then made his descent into the Common Room. Many people were already making their leave to the Great Hall and took sight of Ron and Hermione sitting at their regular table.

At the exact moment Ron caught sight of Harry making his way, he called out, "Bloody hell! What took you so long?" Hermione turned and gave Harry a warm smile, which he had to admit was far better than Ron's idea of a greeting.

"I was busy writing a letter." Harry offered, which apparently wasn't good enough.

"And just who could you possibly be writing to?" Although Harry couldn't see, Hermione shot Ron a dirty look, which the redhead didn't precisely seem to pick up on.

"We should get to the Great Hall. We're going to want to eat before the Champions are selected." That seemed good enough of an answer for Ron, who practically shouted in agreement, and took off without the other two. Hermione, amused, stood up and joined Harry out of the Common Room.

"Sirius?" she whispered once they were alone. Harry wasn't even the least surprised that Hermione was able to figure him out like that. She had been doing it for years now.

Harry could feel himself get a bit heated as he thought back to the contents of the letter he wrote, offering a feeble, "Yeah," in return.

"Is everything ok?"

Harry brushed his hand through his locks a few times. "Oh, yeah. I just told him about the Triwizard Tournament and… stuff." It felt like a petty response, but luckily Hermione had not bothered with prying any longer. They simply continued their stroll to what would unknowingly become one of the most miserable days of Harry's life.

* * *

The instant Harry and Hermione walked into the Great Hall, they were greeted with the site of a white-haired, long-bearded pair of Weasley twins dashing past them, both arguing back and forth about who was at fault for their current predicament. Hermione had summed the situation up pretty nicely.

"Aging potion. Honestly, they're fools for even trying!"

That was nearly forty-five minutes ago. They had now finished their dinner, and Hermione was somehow coerced, mainly by Ronald, into detailing her humiliating encounter with Snape the previous day after the library when Dumbledore had begun to speak.

"Good evening! As I'm sure you're all aware, tonight, the Triwizard Champions will be selected!" There was tremendous applause. And that's when the warning sign came. Instinctively, a hand went to rub his forehead, where a sharp pain had come and gone in the matter of a second. It was rather intense. It was enough to make him physically flinch and recoil.

Hermione seemed to notice, as she had to look over Harry's shoulder to see Dumbledore. "Harry? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Harry didn't believe his own words for a second, no matter how much he wanted to. Hermione hadn't seemed to either, for she was no longer listening to Dumbledore, who was about to call the Durmstrang Champion.

Harry watched as the Goblet spat out the first sheet of paper, and he suddenly could begin to hear his heart beating. All the external sound around him had ceased, and could only pick up the sound of his own blood flowing and his eyes crunching when he blinked. Harry watched as a Durmstrang student, who he noticed had to be Viktor Krum, suddenly stood up while everyone clapped. He simply walked up to Dumbledore, shook his hand, and left through a door behind the staff table.

Harry could faintly hear the next champion be called. Fleur DeLacour had graciously stood up and followed the same procedure as Viktor had. The time for the Hogwarts Champion was now, and Harry suddenly felt as though he couldn't breathe. The Goblet had spat the piece of paper out, and Dumbledore had caught it with a swish of his hand. He read it out:

"Cedric Diggory!" Harry breathed in, then out. He visibly eased, almost ready to faint from the anxiety. The pain in his scar had been so brief, but it managed to scare him to no end. _'It must have been my head playing bloody tricks on me,' _he thought. But it no longer mattered, for the Hogwarts Champion was currently shaking hands with Dumbledore, and was about to leave the room in a few short seconds. This would all be over. Everything was fine.

"Well, the Goblet has chosen. Your-"

Like a switch, the Goblet's blue flames had transformed into a red and was erupting almost violently, cutting Dumbledore off completely. Harry could feel his heart stop. He already knew where this was going to lead. He knew it was too good to be true. Everyone watched as Dumbledore caught the fourth piece of paper out of the Goblet of Fire, his face turning skeletal as he read the name out loud.

"Harry Potter."

"What the bloody fu-"

**_A/N: Now, the Triwizard Tournament is not gonna change in regards to Harry being the second Hogwarts Champion. That much is clear. I will tell you, however, that the challenges he must accomplish will be far different than the original. _**

**_I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I will do my best to get the next one out soon._**

**_Thank you for reading,_**

**_A fellow reader and writer :)_**


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